


Almost, but not quite

by LilyAmelia



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Canon compliant-ish, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 06:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8276851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyAmelia/pseuds/LilyAmelia
Summary: Takes place just after EIP, S3
 
"Aang kissed me!" She bursts out.
It suddenly occurs to her that he might not be the best person to talk to about this. Who could she have gone to, though? Aang was part of the problem. Toph would probably cackle and tease; hardly helpful. Sokka - that was out of the question. Suki?
Oh. Right. She should probably have gone to Suki.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The line about fire and cauterization is inspired by a brilliant series from Cadesama (Heals All Wounds). 
> 
> Shoutout to seapruncs on tumblr for her feedback on this! I’m so very grateful :) (you can thank her for the ending. The first one was depressing - canon can crawl in a hole and shrivel up.) Her writing is beautiful as well, check it out!
> 
> I’m pretty sure there is nothing original about this, but that’s what I get for joining the party eleven years late. (At least I missed most of the ugly shipwars. Maybe.) Hope you guys enjoy anyway!

“Almost.  
It’s a big word for me.  
I feel it everywhere.  
Almost home.  
Almost happy.  
Almost changed.  
Almost, but not quite.  
Not yet.  
Soon, maybe.  
I’m hoping hard for that.” 

― Joan Bauer,  _Almost Home_  
  


* * *

 

The walk back to the beach house is a quiet one, except for Sokka’s enthusiastically whispered recollections of _his very own_ lines ("he actually _used_ that, Suki! Like I told him to!") and whatever’s left of the ruined evening is spent in glum silence and awkward stares around the fire in the garden.

Unable to stand Aang’s hurt looks after an hour, Katara bids them goodnight and stands up to head to her room. Suki shoots her a sympathetic smile as Sokka snores lightly on her shoulder. Toph studies her, impassive. Zuko- Zuko, she notes, is nowhere to be found.

_It’s not fair. I_ told _him I was confused. I wasn’t ready. And he still-_

Tossing herself dramatically on her bed, she muffles her frustrated scream in her pillow, and her shoulders slump in exhaustion.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tries over and over again to block out the image of the young airbender’s crestfallen expression but his words ring in her head. ‘ _It’s true isn’t it? I thought we were going to be together, but we’re not.’_

She still feels it - the eager press of Aang’s mouth on hers, what feels like the culmination of a story that started months ago, with the phantom brush of lips against lips in an obscure labyrinth made for two lovers. It is innocent and earnest, and she finds herself absently wondering if that’s what a _real_ kiss is like. Because this is _Aang_. (It’s...meant to be, right?)

Because it was nothing like Jet’s hungry insistence, hand on her head pressing her closer, tongue pushing against her lips- 

She stops her thoughts there; she can’t remember if back then her heart raced out of anxiety or exhilaration. Maybe both. She wonders if it matters. (It _should_ , shouldn’t it?)

Spirits, she really is confused.

_‘Why don’t you know? When is the right time?’_

Is she even _supposed_ to know? Guilt coils like a lizard-snake in her belly, and she suddenly resents the young boy for putting it there. The lizard-snake twists itself a little tighter. She cringes as she recalls the way he stepped closer to her, even after she told him no; she remembers her furious tone, his incomprehension, and she feels an angry flush stain her cheeks. 

In a flash, the room seems too small, the walls pressing against her with emotions she never asked for, that she can’t name or understand. Tearing across the room, she stumbles out and leans against the corridor wall, gulping in deep breaths.

The night air brushes against her, its cool fingers a balm against the flushed heat of her skin. Her breath slows down and evens out. Her heartbeat loses its frantic staccato, and settles into a regular tempo.

She tilts her head, listening to the rustle of the old cedar tree’s leaves. The garden seems like a haven right now. Her feet seem to grow a mind of their own, and she pads towards the outdoors. The house is cloaked in silence and darkness, apart from a dim flicker of light she notices under the door leading to Zuko’s room.

She hesitates only for a second or two. Curbing her curiosity has never been her forte, anyway.

"Zuko?"

There’s a shuffle and something thuds on the ground before the door cracks open and she finds herself face to face with the firebender. A small flame flickers in his palm, casting moving shadows across his pale features, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and the mottled scar on his left cheek. The gold in his irises seem to glimmer, like twin flames, and her hilarious mind thinks it’s the _perfect_ moment to recall a line from the play. 

‘ _I’ve had eyes for you since the day you first captured me!’_

She knows the prince is handsome, in a theoretical, matter-of-fact way (and if she wasn’t sure, Suki’s regularly muttered ‘ _it’s okay if it’s just eye candy_ ’ sort of confirmed it). Scar or not, his chiseled features scream fine breeding and royalty, and those _eyes_...she’s seen him firebend with his hands, his feet, but the strange warmth that sometimes flares in her when he glances her way makes her wonder if he can’t firebend from _those_ either. 

So yeah, she’s informed of his attractiveness, but it still feels like a slap in the face every time she _actually_ realizes it.

"Katara?"

To her horror, she feels a blush rising. _Seriously, right now?_ She opens her mouth, probably to stammer some half-baked excuse and aims to take a step back, when she spots half-a-dozen scrolls lying on the floor next to his bed.

"What are those?" She blurts out.

He follows her gaze. "Oh. Distractions?" He rubs his neck, a gesture she recognizes as one of his nervous ticks. "The play wasn’t exactly a bedtime story."

Katara snorts. "You can say that again." She creeps closer, and finds a wooden mantle by the bed filled with various scrolls. Her fingers skim over the parchment in wonder, hardly daring to touch the well-preserved works. "These are all yours?"

She hears the door close and Zuko steps closer. An instant later, a lantern by the bed is lit. "Yeah." He hesitates. "You can take some if you want. I’ve read most of them multiple times."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Multiple times? I thought you haven’t been back here in years."

He shrugs. "Didn’t have many friends. Azula was- _is_ \- the people person." His explanation doesn’t hold a trace of self-pity. To Zuko, it’s a fact.

_Oh. Wow._

Katara decides to take a leaf out of Toph’s book and diffuses the short silence with a quip. "What, no one wanted to befriend Mr. Ray of Sunshine?"

A beat. "I can’t possibly imagine why."

Her mouth drops open as Zuko glances at her out of the corner of his eye. " _Zuko_. Was that a joke?"

His mouth curves to the side in a small but genuine smile, and she’s struck by how her new nickname for him suddenly _fits_. She blinks.

"Don’t get used to it."

His riposte snaps her out of her daze and she lets out a giggle that she tries to smother. "Someone’s on a roll. I _like_ this Zuko." She doesn’t miss the way the tips of his ears redden as he settles on his bed, leaning against the wall and pulling a knee up against his chest.

"Well...good. That’s- that’s good." He isn’t looking at her, absently playing with the fabric spread across his bent knee.

An uncomfortable silence stretches as both benders struggle with their new tentative relationship. Katara knows she’s forgiven him now, and wonders if she might even call him a friend. She cocks her head to the side and studies this boy - this quiet, awkward and strangely endearing boy - and struggles to associate him with the brash warrior at the Poles, the traitorous fugitive in the catacombs.

She wants to separate them, all these different Zukos. It would makes things simpler.

Then again, he’s never made things _simple_ for her.

"I think about it, sometimes." He still doesn’t look up. "You know, about how easily you could have hurt me if you wanted to. When I first came to the temple. Especially- after Yon Rah. What you-," he huffs impatiently (frustration at his lack of appropriate words, she thinks) "- the thing you did, the bending with your hands. He was entirely at your mercy."

He finally glances up, gold locked on blue. "What was that?"

This time, she’s the one who looks away. "Bloodbending. Blood is just another form of liquid. I learnt to control it." She hears it, the self-loathing in her voice, and wonders if he can pick it up. She doesn’t know if she wants him to.

"You bend blood." She turns to him, taken aback by the awe in his voice, before his expression turns speculative as the implications set in. He starts muttering, Katara only grasping words here and there, such as "control", "life", and to her dismay, "medically".

" _No_." The vehemence in her tone takes her by surprise, but there’s a rising panic in her chest, because she can’t do it, she can’t _control_ herself when she starts. "I won’t ever use it again. You’ve seen what...what I _become_."

Hands reach out to wrap around her wrists. "I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Katara. I didn’t mean it like that." Zuko’s hands travel up to her shoulder and he gently pulls her so she sits, perched on the side of his mattress. "I wasn’t..."

He takes a breath. "Uncle used to tell me ‘bending only has the power you give it’." His brow furrows. "Or something like that. It sounded better coming from him." He buries his face in his palms and groans. "Why am I so bad at this?" Shaking his head, he sighs. "What, ah, he meant is that you’re the one who decides what to do with your power."

He extends his palm and a tiny flame rises. "Fire burns and destroys." Katara’s eyes shift from the flame to the comet-shaped scar above his left cheek, and bites her lip. _How did that happen?_  "But it’s also life. Fire can heal- cauterize a bleeding wound, for example. You use water to heal, Katara. But also to fight. Tsunamis and typhoons have been known to ravage villages."

"It’s all in the balance," she murmurs. Keeping her gaze fixed on the flame, she bends a few drops of lukewarm tea from a cup she spots on the floor, and extinguishes the flickering fire. It leaves small trail of steam which quickly evaporates.

"Exactly. And honestly, if there’s one person who can control this, I’m pretty sure it’s _you_. You’re an amazing waterbender."

Katara swears the lump in her throat has _nothing_ to do with the pure conviction in his voice. Or that strange look that flits across his features so quickly she just might have imagined it.

She chokes out a laugh. "High praise, coming from a pretty powerful bender such as yourself, Your Highness Dorklord Sifu Hotman." Her words pull at her, calling for attention but she brushes the feeling aside, leaning down in a mock bow instead. She’ll think about it later.

She looks up with a grin to see a pained-looking Zuko. "Please don’t _ever_ call me that again. Ever."

"I don’t know," she replies airily. "It’s got quite a ring to it."

With a grunt, Zuko flops down on his back, arms spread out. As he stares at the ceiling, Katara can’t help but marvel at the completely vulnerable position he’s put himself in at that moment, in her presence. In fact, he’s done nothing but offer himself since he appeared at the temple, without asking for anything in return ( _except your forgiveness_ , her mind whispers). She thinks back to the way he’d kneeled on the stone floor at the temple, forehead brushing the ground and wrists presented in penance- a runaway prince reduced to groveling prisoner. A wave of shame overcomes her, at their- her- ability to _treat_ someone that way. They’re supposed to be the _good_ guys.

"I used to be a terrible bender."

The confession tears Katara from her musings. "What? But...Your bending is incredible, Zuko."

He twists his head but doesn’t quite meet her eyes. Red starts to stain the skin that peeks above the collar of his tunic. "It’s not too bad now. There’s not much to do on a ship for three years but practice, and Uncle’s way of teaching is really effective- after a while," his lips quirk at a memory. "But when I was younger, I used to practice for hours on end, only to produce the most... _pathetic_ fire. And trip over my own feet. I was a failure, an embarrassment to the Crown." His features cloud over. "Azula was brilliant, though. A prodigy. Lightning shooting out of her fingers at twelve. She got all the talent in the family. She’s _worthy_."

His eyes flutter closed, lashes on the right side dusting those impossibly high cheekbones. "Azula was born lucky. I was lucky to be born." He recites it like a mantra- a prayer? No, a _curse_.

"Oh, _Zuko."_

He blinks, as if suddenly aware she’s there. As if he’s used to speaking without being heard.

And she realizes just how _little_ she knows about their newest ally and his former life.

"How can you _say_ that?" she growls, and Zuko looks stunned by the fierce protectiveness in her voice. She can’t say she isn’t a little startled herself. 

It takes them a second to register her words, however, before Katara clamps a hand over her mouth. "Did I just-"

Zuko’s mouth twitches and he chews the inside of his cheeks, but manages a nod. Katara tries to quell a giggle that threatens to escape by burying her face in the crook of her elbow, but fails miserably as her shoulders shake in silent mirth. A sound catches her attention and she lifts her eyes to the sight of Zuko... _laughing_. She’s amazed at the difference it makes to the already good-looking boy. The corner of his good eye crinkles, even his scar looks softer somehow.

And Tui help her if that isn’t one of the most beguiling sights she has witnessed lately.

"It’s terrible," she mock-whines, "you’re rubbing off on me."

He shrugs. "You’ll see, righteous indignation is a way of life. You just have to practice a lot. Kind of like bending, actually."

A snort escapes Katara. "I think I’ve had a lot of practice in righteous indignation. Bending, too." She scoots a little closer to Zuko to sit by his side, leaning her back against the wall. "Maybe that’s _it_ , you know. Everything in life comes down to practice."

Her eyes widen. _Everything comes down to practice._

_Maybe_ that’s _what I have to do_.

"What?"

She realizes she may have spoken out loud.

"Nothing."

"Katara."

There’s no way he misses her blush, even in the terrible lighting. "Nothing."

"Right. Who keeps harping about ‘honesty is the best policy’? Oh, hey, that would be _you_.

"Well, that doesn’t apply when it has nothing to do with you!"

She feels, more than sees, the huff of smoke that escapes his mouth. "You’re the one who marched into my room at this _ungodly_ hour."

"Aang kissed me!" She bursts out.

The ensuing silence is deafening. It suddenly occurs to her that he might not be the best person to talk to about _this._ Who could she have gone to, though? Aang was _part_ of the problem. Toph would probably cackle and tease; hardly helpful. Sokka- that was _out of the question_. Suki?

Oh. Right. She should probably have gone to Suki.

Stupid Katara.

"Oh." She feels him tense next to her. "When?"

"At the intermission."

He nods next to her, and their shoulders brush as he moves. "That would explain...things."

And because this night can’t possibly get worse, anyway, her brain decides to _share_. "He keeps doing that, you know. _Kissing_ me. First at the cave of Two Lovers- which, granted, could have been more circumstantial than anything else- then the day of the eclipse." She turns to a distinctly uncomfortable-looking Zuko. "And just now. He never warns me, either!"

"Uh..."

"We never get around to talking about it. He just expects us to _be_ together, or something. And gets angry with me when I somehow don’t react appropriately. There’s a war going on. We don’t _have time_ for this. Maybe...maybe we can figure it out when all of this is over, you know?" She shoves away the voice in her mind reminding her that Sokka and Suki are doing just fine even with a war going on. _It’s not the same._ She looks at him, and resents the pleading that slips in her voice when she asks "What do you think?"

"Katara," he runs his hand through his hair. "I’m not very good at this...relationship thing. Apart from Mai, I haven’t had the most experience." Heat radiates off of him and there’s no missing the pink dusting his cheeks.

Her eyes widen in surprise. "Mai? Who’s...wait, senbon girl? _Really_?" She shakes her head, unable to hide the growing smirk. "Anyway, you’re a prince. You expect me to believe you don’t have girls throwing themselves at you back in the Fire Nation?"

He raised his only eyebrow and points to his scar. "Not exactly a catch," he snaps, and the underlying anger is unmistakable. "The former banishment doesn’t help."

She scoffs. "Please, I think the real problem is your attitude."

His jaw clenches. "Look," he sighs and places a hand on her shoulder. Katara jumps slightly, but he doesn’t move it. "Aang obviously likes you. You’ve kissed three times, apparently. If you don’t feel anything, it’s... it’s not your fault. Maybe it’s just not-"

She shakes her head. "I love Aang. I do _._ And I _have_ to like him that way. This is Aang we’re talking about- it’s _destiny_. I’m just not ready right now."

His thumb brushes her collar bone, and her heart does a strange sort of flip. "Destiny is a funny thing, Katara."

"Yeah, it’s _hilarious,_ Zuko." She shrugs his hand away, and tries not to flinch when she misses the warmth. "I’m not ready, but I just need to practice. That’s what I was trying to say!"

Zuko stares at her like she just punched him in the face. "What?"

Katara struggles to find her words. "When Aang kisses me, it’s...fine. But something feels missing. Maybe, if I practice, I’ll get it right the next time, and it’ll feel like it’s supposed to!"  _Then maybe I’ll stop feeling so confused._

"Katara." The sympathy she finds on his face ignites in her a sense of desperation; she knows the words that will follow. "I don’t think that’s how it works."

She squares her shoulders. "Maybe it is. Practicing makes you better, whether it’s cooking, cleaning or fighting. Practicing my bending made me a master. You’ve seen it yourself. Sparring together made us both better-" She cuts herself off as an idea forms.

Zuko seems to follow her train of thought, if the way his eyes narrow is anything to go by. "That’s a _terrible_ idea _,_ Katara," he hisses, his voice low in her ear. "Seriously. The worst."

"Is it, though?" she presses. Katara’s a girl of instinct, and her instincts tell her this feels like the right course of action. "I need to do this, and you said it yourself, you’re not very good at this stuff either! It’s practically win-win. Mutually beneficial."

He glares at her, and his voice holds an edge of distress when he chokes out, "No, it’s not!"

She gives his shoulder a light punch. "It’s just a kiss, Zuko. What’s going to happen?"

There’s no humor in the tight smile he shoots her. "Nothing, apparently, when you’re involved. Isn’t that basically the root of this whole conversation?"

She ignores the twinge in her chest at his words, because he has a point. "Well then, I’m not sure what the problem is. One kiss, that’s all. Then you can go back to your scary, blade-loving women, and I can continue with..." she flounders a little, looking for words.

He pinches his nose and lets out a deep sigh, before turning back his gaze on her. "Your destiny," he finishes quietly.

"Yeah." It comes out as an exhale.

His eyes flicker to her neck and he reaches out. Katara starts when she feels his fingers against the skin of her throat, before they close around the pendant. The contrast between the heat of his skin and the cool stone isn’t helping her nerves much, but she forces herself to sit still. She just hopes he doesn’t catch the way her breath quickens.

"Is it your own destiny? Or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you?" She isn’t sure if the murmured words are for her ears, or if he’s talking to himself. EIther way, she has no answer.

He’s close, _so close_ , she feels his warm breath against her lips. He swallows, and Katara finds herself captivated by the way his throat moves, casting dancing shadows across the pale skin.

"Are you sure?" His voice is barely a whisper, and her eyes snap up. All she sees are wide pitch black pupils, surrounded by gold. _So much gold_. She identifies a flicker of hesitancy and nerves, but mostly something she can’t quite put a name on but recognizes, as it pools at that very moment in her gut. She wants to think it’s curiosity. (Like she said; curbing it- not her forte.)

So she doesn’t answer. Instead, she blindly reaches out until her fingers curl around the soft, used silk of his tunic, and she tugs lightly.

It’s far from perfect, she notes. There’s too much teeth and he isn’t sure where to put his hands, so one hovers at her back while the other hangs limply against his side. But his lips are surprisingly full, softer than she imagined ( _not_ that she spends her time imagining _this_ ) and there’s a lingering spicy saltiness she attributes to fireflakes. Before she knows what she’s doing, her tongue slips out, brushing his lower lip.

At the contact, Zuko makes a noise, and Katara’s positive he must have started bending- because it feels like someone’s lit her on _fire_. The heat spreads to her fingers, her toes. It rises to her chest, her neck. Her hand finds its way to his hair, where her fingers bury themselves in the soft strands and curl, scratching lightly against his scalp. That seems to trigger something in him, as the hand at her back settles on her waist and pulls her closer. The other slides up her arm and shoulder, to finally cup the back of her head, and angles it  _just so_. A soft sound penetrates through the haze that is her mind, before she registers that it comes from her. The realization is terrifying.

He pulls away, teeth grazing her lower lip, and a shiver shoots up her spine. Loath as she is to admit it, she’s pretty sure it has nothing to do with the draught of cool air that slides through the window at that moment. His forehead presses against hers, the ends of ink black hair tickling the bridge of her nose. Blood is pounding in her ears, a deafening yet steady thrum that echoes through her whole body, so she doesn’t quite catch the whisper that escapes his mouth.

She doesn’t know what is happening to her right now. She doesn’t know what to make of her reactions, the effervescent energy flowing through her so familiar (almost like bending, she thinks) and yet so foreign. So she pushes it down, screws her eyes shut and breathes out.

"Katara." His breath fans against her cheek, his voice- raspier than usual- does _things_ somewhere deep in her chest. His thumb slides from the shell of her ear to the corner of her mouth with a feather-like touch. "Are- are, uh, you okay?"

She quite honestly doesn’t know, but he’s looking at her with wide eyes, concern (and is that...guilt? _Spirits, Zuko_ ) so visibly etched in his furrowed brow that she nods. He must see the strain in her smile because he pulls away to stand up, hand shooting straight to his hair, and mutters under his breath. "I shouldn’t- I’m so sorry, Katara. I didn’t-"

"Stop." She grabs his elbow and jerks, forcing him to stand still, before pulling herself up. "Stop apologizing. I’m the one," she wets her lips, "I’m the one who sort of forced you into this."

"You didn’t." His voice is rough, a hoarse whisper in her ear. "Not really." And the lizard-snake is back, coiling in her stomach in a wholly different- almost _pleasant_ \- way.

He avoids her eyes and fixes on a point somewhere above her shoulder, until Katara lets out a growl of frustration and grabs his face in both hands so that he has no _choice_ but to face her. He blinks at her in surprise- and maybe a little apprehension. 

"Thank you," she says eventually.

"Did-" He stiffens when her thumb brushes against the bottom of his scar. "Did that help?"

She hesitates, not really trusting herself to speak. This _was_ supposed to help her, make her see things more clearly. But _no_ , she had to bring in this disarming mess of a boy- now everything is a hundred times more complicated, and she should never have suggested _practice._

She decides to go for the truth. "Maybe. I don’t know."

He simply nods. In the dim light of the lantern, the scar almost looks like a shadow. She starts to trace it, index finger following the thickened border. His fingers close around her wrist, but he doesn’t pull it away. His eyes flutter close, and it’s Ba Sing Se all over again.

"Azula?"

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes shut. "My f- Ozai."

Katara’s blood turns to ice. She’s horrified, and part of it is because she isn’t even surprised. "Why?"

He exhales. "I disagreed with one of the Firelord’s decisions."

" _Disagreed-"_

"And begged for forgiveness instead of fighting for my honor." His voice is cold, hollow. 

She can’t believe it. "What did you- _nothing_ you could have said would ever have justified _this_!"

His grip tightens, fingertips digging into her forearm. "They were inexperienced, a whole division of new recruits, served up as fresh meat- as _bait_ \- to distract an Earth Kingdom battalion. I couldn’t- it wasn’t _right_."

_‘Whenever I would imagine the face of the enemy, it was your face.’_

_‘My face. I see.’_

Zuko cares, she learns. He’s brash about it, clumsy, doesn’t always make the correct choice, or for the perfect reason. It doesn’t make him _right._ But he cares so much.

He’d always symbolized the Fire Nation, the relentless thorn in their side in the quest for peace. Violent, selfish, with a single-mindedness she attributed to his pampered royal upbringing. He couldn’t _care_ about his people, let alone about the other nations. And all this time...she had no idea. _I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m sorry._

"After... _after_. I can heal you. The offer still stands." The words tumble out of her mouth in her haste to make him _understand._  "We’ll go to the North Pole-"

"Hey." He tugs gently on her wrist and her fingers curl away from his face. He doesn’t let her go. "It’s okay, Katara. I’ve thought about it. A lot. If I had to do it all again, I wouldn’t change what I did- except fight. I would have fought. The scar is a mark. It reminds me of the choices I’ve made, of the person I am." He draws a breath. "Of the person I refuse to be."

Katara takes a good look at the dark-haired teen in front of her, with his lightly rumpled clothes and the lanky frame of someone who’s grown too much and eaten too little in a short time. She tries to picture him in red and gold robes, a gold flame encircling a topknot. _Our future Firelord, maybe_. It’s jarring. It fits.

Before she can think twice, she launches herself at him and wraps him in a hug. It knocks them back a few steps onto the bed, where he throws out a hand in an attempt to keep them upright. The other loses itself in her hair, drawing her closer.

"You’re _nothing_ like your father," she mutters fiercely in his shoulder. She feels his hold strengthen.

"I’m pretty bad at being good, Katara." His voice is muffled by her hair. "I think we both know- don’t laugh! But I’m trying, I swear."

His fervent tone almost makes her smile. She pulls back. "I know you are."

There’s no missing the way his shoulders relax, and he rests his head against the wall.

"Listen. I used to trust too easily. It’s been used against me." Images of Jet with his captivating grin and lust for vengeance flash through her mind. "More than once," she adds with a wry curve of her lips. 

The shame and remorse that twist Zuko’s features almost make her want to take those words back, but she _has_ to get them out. "And I’ve held that over you for so, _so_ long. What if I used the Spirit Water on you, and couldn’t save Aang? What if I _did_ use it- would you have sided with us? Those _what-ifs_ still haunt me sometimes."

His jaw starts to move, and she waves a hand. He can’t interrupt her, not now. "But you’ve done so much, Zuko. Training Aang, helping Sokka get my dad and Suki back," she swallows, "helping me."

Her eyes flicker to his. _You’ve seen all of me- good, bad and worse- and you’re still here_. "I’m glad you’re on our side, Zuko. I’m glad we’re," she hesitates, "friends."

It doesn’t sound right. It’s the truth, but it sounds like a lie.

He holds her gaze, not saying a word. Under his thin, pale skin, his jaw muscle twitches. "Yeah," he finally lets out. "Friends." Something flits in his amber eyes, so quick she can’t catch it.

It’s unnerving, she thinks. Zuko is usually ridiculously easy to read; he wears his heart on his sleeve. He never bothers to hide what he’s feeling. It’s something Katara likes about him. It’s comforting. (It’s probably also his biggest weakness when it comes to his sister, she realizes.) 

But his face settles into an impassive mask, and she finds she doesn’t know what he’s thinking. 

It hurts a little.

She gets to her feet with a small sigh. She should be getting back to her room, anyway. "Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Zuko."

She has one foot out the door before she hears it, so quiet she almost misses it. "Goodnight, Katara." It sounds like an apology. And maybe-

She bites her lip and allows herself a smile.

The walk back to her room is a strange one, the lightness of her steps at odds with the unwanted weight in her chest. The soft click of the closing door is a relief, creating a barrier between her and... _whatever’s_ happening on the other side. She leans her forehead against the wood for a second. _Just- breathe._

"Oh, Sugar Queen."

Her heart actually stutters in her chest. She spins around to find Toph sitting cross-legged on her bed. Even in the dark, there’s no mistaking the smirk on her pretty features, highlighted by the light of the moon filtering through her window. But there’s no mocking in the tiny earthbender’s voice. 

"When all this is over, you’re going to be in so much trouble." No, no teasing. Only a gentle warning, a tinge of pity.

In the ensuing silence, Katara thinks of a thumb behind her ear, of teeth nipping her lower lip, of traded stories in a dimly lit room. She thinks of silky black strands between the dark skin of her fingers. She thinks of two golden eyes and the crooked half-smile of a broken boy.

She blinks. _A maybe. An almost._

"What do I do?" She whispers in the dark.

She listens as the soft patter of feet approaches, and feels the lightest of jabs in her arm. "You’ll do what feels right, Katara. You always do."

The door clicks shut. Katara climbs onto her bed and curls up beneath her sheets, waiting for sleep to come.

-

She wakes up to a ray of sunlight trickling down onto her cheek, with her fingers clasped around her necklace and warmth wrapped around her heart.


End file.
